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EXCERPT 1 OF 12 THE PERUVIAN

TO PRE-ORDER THE BOOK NIKOLAS AND COMPANY: A CREATURE MOST

FOUL , VISIT THE SITE: WWW.NIKOLASANDCO.COM

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CHAPTER 1 The Peruvian The mountains of central Peru, sometime in the near future... Tink. Tink. Hollow…metal? The Peruvian man squeezed the shovel. Tink. Tink. Tink. He threw the shovel aside. The Peruvian knew what to do next. First,

he would report to the project leader, then, begin the tedious work of gently removing the dirt away with a soft brush for the next three days.

He did neither. The Peruvian clawed the ground. Bits of rock shoved under nails. Dirt

flew into nose, teeth, and eyes until they stung. They gave up on the western site. Thought I was an idiot, the Peruvian laughed to

himself. Yes, yes. Cigar shaped…self-emanating alloy. Just as he told me…and there it is. The oldest artifact on the planet.

The Peruvian thought he saw an engraving. He inhaled and blew. 'L'? An English 'L'? In Peru? He glanced over. Only the ruins of

Macchu Picchu leered over the twenty foot hole. “Ha!” he congratulated himself. English? Chinese? What do I care? Oldest artifact ever to be discovered and I made the find. That project leader told me it would be worth more money than these Peruvian eyes had ever seen.

The idea swelled before he could stop it. I could slip it into my pocket. Sneak out after nightfall. And I know just the

buyer… The Peruvian loosened his pocket as the object parted from its archeological grave. A shadow passed over.

He leapt to his feet. What is he doing down here? There stood the crazy old project leader with his straw white hair and

green trench coat. He never came groundside, preferring to stay in his hover truck 24/7 so he could watch over the Macchu Picchu dig like some Norse god of archeology.

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“I—I think we’ve found it," The Peruvian man yielded. "Mr. Steward Lyons.”

“Yes. I saw it from the truck. Bring it here, quickly now,” the project leader barked in what sounded similar to a Scottish accent.

The Peruvian obeyed. He tapped the UP symbol on the auto-lift. Electromagnetic thrusters raised him twenty feet and eye level to the project leader, but the Peruvian didn’t make eye contact with him, couldn’t make eye contact with him.

The project leader frightened him. No other way to put it. He was abnormally tall, with the beard of a

wild man and a temper to match. And he used big words like forsooth and malcontent.

With a sigh, the Peruvian surrendered the oldest artifact on the planet into a hand trailed with dirt. Idiot. Weak, stupid, idiot, the Peruvian thought to himself.

The project leader withdrew a monocle and for the first time ever, smiled.

The Peruvian smiled back. "Should make sure the Smithsonian has my friendbook address. You know, for follow up questions…" …or a job promotion? the Peruvian thought to himself. Maybe even Director? Suppose I should hire a publicist. And a—

The project leader raised his chest and spit. “Ugh,” the Peruvian covered his mouth. The project leader rubbed the artifact between palms, shook it, then

scratched it with blackened nails. The Peruvian dug through his back pocket and offered up his bottle of hand sanitizer.

The project leader ignored him. “Very good, Ludwig, very good. Couldn't have made the clue more difficult to find. You and your puzzles."

“It—it is quite strange—," said the Peruvian. "This script, it is an English L, yes? Could not be Incan.”

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The project leader's face rounded on the object. “And why should it be? Laid here when Peru was nothing more than an ice sheet.”

A twig cracked in the distance. In one motion, the project leader shoved the artifact into his coat, reached behind his neck and unsheathed an axe.

“Woah," the Peruvian scrambled backward with open arms. "What? What?”

The project leader traced a figure eight with the stem of the axe. The jungle responded in silence. The axe was mysteriously sheathed again.

“Wh—why do you have a battle axe at the dig…at all?” The Peruvian cocked his head. “And where do you keep that thing?”

The project leader curled both fists around the artifact. Snap. “Are you crazy?” The Peruvian clenched his head. The artifact released tendrils of yellow dust. A breeze swept most of it

away, leaving only a trace of letters behind. “I, um, I…” the Peruvian couldn’t manage words worth speaking. “It’s stardust. Now be quiet.”

Steward Nikolas Lyons 11th, Mauius 12th of the 5th Epoch I pray the clues were not too severe and this message

fell into true hands. The trackers followed you to earth's future, as I’m sure you’ve suspected. While they have run you off to another time, a greater crisis has emerged in our own. My informants tell me the Merrows of Eynclaene will be attacked within the month by the gypsy dujinnin. I do not need to remind you they

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are guardians of all Huron's wealth, which leaves your fair city vulnerable to an ill and unthinkable ruin. The Council of Teine insists upon your return, demands it in fact. Who knows? Could it be that time and space fend off the chimera once and for all? Do not delay.

Your friend, Ludwig, Master Toymaker “The Merrows attacked…” the project leader swiped the words into

an unreadable cloud while mumbling to himself, “That's it then…bloody monsters chased me from Huron. She is now left exposed…I should return. I must return…but the trackers…You might be right, Ludwig. Abandon the trackers to this time and return home. Kill two birds with one stone…” The project leader squeezed his palms. “Oh Huron, what is the way, what is the way? Confound it all! Why is the city quiet?” The project leader locked eyes with the Peruvian. “Why will the woman not speak to me?”

“Take it from personal experience," the Peruvian shrugged. "Move on. They never call back.”

The project leader’s eyes searched the Peruvian’s. “Aagh,” he waved him off and faced the archaeological team. “I have tarried long enough. Must find the steward now. Good day.” The project leader nodded and began a quick march to his yellow FORD hover truck, which was as swarthy and beat up as the project leader.

“Wait,” the Peruvian moved between two team members flirting at the water station, “You’re going to do what—who? You're this—this Steward Lyons. For years, you've demanded we call you Mr. Steward Lyons.”

The project leader looked at the Peruvian with his blazing green eyes, making him feel six feet short of his five foot ten. “I was! Huron knows

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that I was. Steward Nikolas Lyons, the eleventh. But now I need to find Steward Nikolas Lyons the twelfth. My grandson.”

The project leader heaved into the truck. A harness responded to the presence of a body and unspooled itself. With a slam of the door, he nodded an empty salutation to the crowd, followed by a guttural sound from the engine and the hover truck began to lift.

The Peruvian man looked at his own stunned reflection in the hover truck window, then looked down to two empty hands. The artifact that would make him wildly rich currently sat in the passenger seat with a crazy project leader who needed to find his grandson and save the Merrows?

"What's a Merrow?" the Peruvian said to himself. The scene was fizzling away like a bad radio signal. The Peruvian leapt to the air, grabbed the door handle and yanked it

open. The hover truck pitched to the left, forcing the project leader to prop one hand on the roof while gripping the steering column.

"Are you mad?" yelled the project leader. “The artifact. You have the artifact!” the Peruvian cried. “I cannot waste my time in parlay with you. The Merrows, sir. The

Merrows are in need of salvation. Now, let go before you pitch the truck over!”

“Merrows?” the Peruvian said. "What are you talking about?" “Merrows," the project leader shouted over the hover truck's whining

stabilizers, "Mermaids! Merfolk! Whatever you folks call ‘em. They are under the citizenship of Huron and in need of me. If I'm to save them, I must have access to the voice of Huron. I may access the voice only through my grandson, Nikolas. Henceforth, I must return him to his proper time in history. In short, good day, sir!” He wrenched the car door from the Peruvian.

The hover truck kicked a foot, and then twenty into the air. “Hey…hey! The grant? What am I to tell the endowment board?” The

Peruvian punched the air. “Crazy old man!”

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The hover truck stopped its ascent, and the driver window rolled down. Two silvery objects spat out to the grass. Then, the hover truck pointed its grill skyward and puttered into the lowly clouds and toward the north. Incandescent F O R D letters were the last to be seen.

“Told you that guy was a nut,” a voice came from the onlookers. The Peruvian toddled after the artifact. He clutched it to his chest,

stood to his feet and bolted toward a stack of briefcases. Finding one, he dropped to the ground and stuffed the artifact into it. With a few taps, the password was set. He wasn't going to let it out of his sight again.

A llama cried from the outer perimeter. It galloped past with its bottom lip lolling back and forth.

Cliiiiink, tiiiiink. Cliiiiiink, tiiiiink, came the sound of grinding chains. "Now wha— ?" the Peruvian's voice trailed off. Three images emerged from the forest, escorted by a canine growl. “Heaven help us,” the Peruvian wobbled to his feet. What he saw next utterly convinced him that it was time to retire from

archaeology and accept his brother Felipe’s open invitation to start a line of clothing apparel for small dogs. That is, if he could manage to survive the next five minutes. Three monstrous animals lumbered across the site. Someone must have taken the head of a hyena, stuck it on the neck of an ostrich and stitched it to the body of a raptor.

One of the creatures, which had bits of chain crisscrossing its torso, stopped at the hole where the Peruvian first discovered the artifact. Its neck dropped to the ground while oily eyes stayed on the archeological team.

Grung, grung, grung, grung, grung, grung. Guttural sniffs blew from two slits at the bottom of its neck. The

Peruvian’s lip curled. Instead of nostrils just above its teeth, this monster's nostrils were on the bottom side of its throat.

The monster suddenly raised up on two hind legs while membrane skin whipped from behind its ears. It's eyes moved around like some prehistoric satellite dish.

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It found the Peruvian. “Reegh!” The Peruvian scrambled for the closest hover truck. Chains clattered

against each other. He reached for the handle—it was locked. Claws forced him down. A dog mouth opened, revealing teeth for gutting set in a jaw for tearing. The Peruvian heard his own machine gun breath. The monster’s neck slithered over until the two neck nostrils found his face. Nostrils flared, sniffed, growled, then sniffed, unsatisfied. The creature turned to the briefcase in his hand.

"Grrrrh…" The creature's gaze returned to the Peruvian. Something was rolling

through its jaw. His eyes widened as the bottom jaw unhinged from the top like a snake, doubling the size of its mouth. Between the teeth pulsed a tubular, pink throat. The Peruvian closed his eyes for what he knew would be the last time in his life.

"Aah," the Peruvian moaned. Wet lips brushed his hand as the steel briefcase was sucked away.

With some jerks of the head, the case disappeared down the monster's gullet.

And into the monster's belly went the oldest artifact in the history of archaeology.

The membrane fan folded behind the monster's head and it looked back to the other two, who were currently investigating their own career-changing team members.

“Schreeg-gah!” it commanded. In some strange chorus, all the heads lifted northward and in the direction of the project leader.

And just like that, they left. The Peruvian rolled over. He watched the tip of the last monster's tail

disappear into the forest. Project leader leaves babbling about his grandson saving some

mermaids? Says he needs to “fetch him” and bring him to his true home? Monster attacks the site? Attacks me? It swallows the oldest artifact on

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the planet and my future in archeology with it? The only way for me to get it back is to hunt that monster down and gut the artifact from its stomach? I would have to be a…hero?

The Peruvian knew what to do next. He tapped the inside of his ear drum. A tinny voice answered. “Communication One. How may I connect you?” “Felipe Sanchez, please.” “Connecting…” “Alo?” “Felipe…” The Peruvian retired from archeology and became a moderately

successful producer of leggings and scarves for toy terriers.

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TO PRE-ORDER THE BOOK NIKOLAS AND

COMPANY: A CREATURE MOST FOUL ,

VISIT THE SITE: WWW.NIKOLASANDCO.COM